Trust Me
by L J Groundwater
Summary: Elizabeth Keen's world falls apart, and she turns to the man who at some stage she was certain had created all her problems: Raymond Reddington. Continuation of 1:17 ("Ivan"). Please, please let me know what you think!


_**I own absolutely nothing. The first few lines are a recap of the end of ep 1:17 (IVAN). This is simply the continuation… Please please let me know what you think.**_

* JSTB * JSTB * JSTB * JSTB *

Elizabeth Keen shook her head at the stunning Sorrento music box, then said in wonder, "You spent days building that damn thing." Raymond Reddington said nothing. "You knew about the song. My father…" It was all too overwhelming. What had he done? "You knew I'd find out the truth. And you wanted me…"

She was overcome. Her eyes closed tightly and tears began to fall, unbidden, down her cheeks. She didn't want him to see her like this. She didn't want to _be_ like this. But what else could she do, when her whole world had just fallen apart? Instinctively she leaned in for comfort, and Raymond Reddington, as always, was there.

He took her into his arms and held her, after a moment planting a gentle kiss in her hair, and laying his cheek up against the back of her head. "To know that everything is going to be okay," he finished for her, his voice low, soft, reassuring. "You're going to be okay."

Elizabeth Keen—if that was her real name, she wondered briefly—reached to tightly grip the arm of one of the world's most dangerous men, now desperately accepting the gentle comfort he was offering as she wept in his arms. Raymond Reddington was right; he'd been right all along, and yet he had offered only a melancholic smile or a deadpan look when she had mocked and raged and abused him about his cryptic warnings. She'd had to find out for herself, he knew. And now _she_ knew, and he'd been right about _that_, too.

He was warm and soft against her, and yet firm and strong. And no matter how long she stayed leaning into him, and she wasn't sure how long that was (was she sure of anything, any more?), he didn't shift, or speak to try and offer meaningless platitudes to shake her out of her grief. He just held her, and let her cry. Occasionally, she could feel him lift his head and then lay his cheek against her again. It was an instinctive, almost parental thing to do, and yet knew he wasn't her father. What a fool she'd been the day she'd asked him if he was. But she had. And he'd said no. Part of her wished now that he had been; she longed for the safety and comfort of family. But he'd never lied to her; he told her as much only hours earlier. She hadn't believed him when he'd promised that. But now she believed, she _believed_, and here he was, just holding her, expecting nothing.

She knew so much now, thanks to Raymond Reddington. And yet she knew so little. She had been so sure her life was so normal, and headed in such a terrific direction: married to a wonderful man, starting a fantastic job, ready to start a family. And then… Red. And everything was turned upside down and inside out, culminating in this ultimate betrayal by her husband, and leaving her raw and alone. The bare pain had burned her from the inside out as she'd made smiling, apologetic excuses to Tom about needing to be at work and fleeing to Red's current location. She'd tried so hard to hold it together, but when she realized the beautiful, incredibly personal gesture Red had made in anticipation of this very moment, she'd fallen apart, so overwhelmed with the knowledge that at least one person in her world, regardless of how infuriating and mysterious and confusing he could be, cared about her. Truly, genuinely, deeply cared. And right now, she was in that person's arms.

The burning began to subside, smothered by Red's unceasing patience, the feel of his cheek against her hair, his chest against her shoulder, his arm protectively around her back. A whiff of woody cologne reached her, and she wept new tears as she was reminded of his promise that she would be okay. She needed that promise to be true, she knew. If it wasn't, she wouldn't know what she would do, or what would become of her. Her whirling thoughts slowed, and she felt herself being lulled into a state of half-wakefulness, emotional exhaustion taking its toll. Her head began to droop. Random memories briefly flitted through her mind, some good, some tainted with the mark of betrayal. And words… leading to Red's words: "Be careful of your husband." "I have never lied to you." And finally her own angry retort that was met simply with silence: "How would I know?"

She drew in a breath and opened her eyes as she saw Red's stoic reaction to that in her mind. He drew his head away from her then, and she pulled herself up and looked at him. "I didn't believe you," she said in a small, regretful voice.

Ever calm, ever unruffled, it seemed, Red offered her only a turning up of his lips in return. Such a quiet atmosphere; perhaps he didn't want it to be disturbed. But she insisted. "I was so awful to you… you were making the music box, and I accused you of making my life hell."

"It's not exactly your ideal at the moment, is it," Red countered. A statement, really, not a question. And still, the calm.

"You know what I mean," she persisted. "You were right, and I—"

"I've been accused of worse," Red answered softly. "And guilty of worse."

Liz straightened up and sat properly beside him again, holding onto his hands, and now looking into his eyes, searching for a hint of the man who hid behind the suits and the witticisms and the mystery of his last two decades. "But not with me," she said. "You were right. You were _right; _you always told me the truth. I just didn't want to hear it. And I hurt you. I_ must_ have hurt you. And yet you didn't say _anything!"_

A cryptic, melancholy smile. "You needed to discover it yourself."

"Why me?" Liz asked softly, sadly. "Why? You _know,"_ she said. "You warned me. Why me? Is it because of my father?"

Red said nothing, just continued looking intensely into her eyes.

"You told me you chose me because of my father. Did Tom do that, too? Did he _marry_ me because of something connected with my father? Or because of some connection that I have with _you?"_

Again, Red said nothing.

"_Answer me,"_ Liz pressed, pushing his hands away. "Why am I special?"

Red quirked his lips, clearly considering her question. But no words came forth.

Liz found a bit of her temper. "Why won't you tell me?" she almost spat at him. Instantly, she regretted it. "I'm sorry," she said. She reached for one of his hands. He accepted the gesture, his thumb slowly stroking the back of her hand. "I just… I just feel like I've lost everyone. Sam… Tom… if I ever had him…" Her head bowed then, as she was once more overwhelmed by the events of the day. She drew a hand up to her mouth as she squeezed her eyes shut. She thought she had no more tears left, but in that instant she knew she was wrong. Red said nothing, just continued to stroke her hand. Smooth. Steady. Reassuring.

After a time she drew her hand away from her face. "You…" she breathed, emotion overtaking her again. "You're the only one I have left. And I don't understand why you're here…. You might go away, too!"

Red shook his head softly, his eyes telling her his truth. "I'm not going anywhere, Lizzie."

"Why should you stay; I've hurt you so much. So much!" she sobbed quietly. She drew in a shaky breath through her mouth and turned to look at him. "I'm sorry," she whispered again. "I'm so, so sorry. You've been so good to me, and I didn't understand any of it."

Red tilted his head a bit, continued watching her, and let her work through her thoughts. Slowly she drew up her left hand and touched it to his cheek. "Forgive me," she whispered, searching his eyes for understanding. Red's eyes looked right through her, and as one more tear escaped her eye, she was sure his eyes turned glassy. Then he leaned gently into her hand and his eyelids closed.

"No one has asked for…" he began, his voice low, and gravelly with emotion. His thought trailed off, and after a moment he opened his eyes. "It's been a long time since anyone has cared if they've wronged me."

The stark truth of his statement struck her. Snippets of conversations they had had flashed through her head:

_Lizzie, I want you to know, if you are ever in need, I will be there._

_You've got me. And I'm not going to let anything happen to you._

_You're a monster.—Yes.—How can you live with that?—By saving your life._

_A man who is willing to burn down the world for the one person he cares about… that's a man I understand._

She was left momentarily speechless. For all his faults, for all his mystery, for all the danger he had led her to—and through, for all that she believed he may have been, he had never, ever, left her on her own. She looked at him as though for the first time, and instead of seeing the criminal mastermind who was on the FBI's Ten Most Wanted list, instead of seeing a monster who could kill someone with a coat hanger and then smile and laugh his way through a formal dinner, she saw a man. A man who had given her clues all along as to who he really was, only she wouldn't listen. And not only wouldn't she listen, but she threw those small revelations back in his face, sometimes with venom. And all he ever did was offer to leave her in peace, never once trying to force her to see something that she didn't want to see.

Her heart swelled with the realization, with shame for her wrong and damning profile of him, with sorrow for Red's now-clear loneliness, with affection for his willingness to stay by her side, even in those times that she offered nothing in return. She leaned in toward him, with so much feeling in her heart that she could find no words to express herself, and closed her eyes.

When she was only a few inches from his face, a sensation of touch on her lips broke the spell. She opened her eyes to see Red looking deeply, intensely, at her, his thumb gently, ever so slowly, running back and forth across her lips as though studying them, memorizing them. She pulled her hand away from his face and placed it over his wrist, then turned his hand over and kissed his palm. Through all of this, his expression did not change, and yet she did not feel shame for what she had almost done. Something about this man brought her strength. And she knew she would follow his lead, tonight, and from now on.

"Trust me, Lizzie," he said, his voice low, and serious.

She nodded, looking back at him as intensely as he looked at her, still holding his hand.

She would.


End file.
